


Cherry Vodka Is Satan

by riverchic1998



Series: Impaired [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-14
Updated: 2012-11-14
Packaged: 2017-11-18 15:01:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/562336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riverchic1998/pseuds/riverchic1998
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erica nudged Scott. “So we know that he gets mouthy and screeches like a toddler in a fun house when he’s had rum. What happens when he has vodka? Is it the same?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cherry Vodka Is Satan

**Author's Note:**

> So much crack. Thanks to Jo for the beta. Also, this can be put in the "Sterek if you squint" column, because I've read so much of it, it's starting to sneak into my own works.

Stiles crossed his arms and glared at the pile of dead logs, leaves, and old newspapers. He had spent weeks— _weeks_ —getting Derek to agree to a bonfire at the Hale house. Stiles understood where his concern was, he really did, but during the renovation of the house, contractors found the old outdoor grill and bonfire pit. Originally, Derek wanted to tear it down and keep it down, but after the entire pack begged him not to, he gruffly agreed that if they fixed it up, they could use it.

Derek probably didn’t think they would follow through. It took a lot longer than they planned, mostly because Stiles insisted they drive forty-five minutes to the Home Depot to actually learn how to tile and make a proper outdoor space every Saturday for two months, but in the end, the result was a thing of beauty.

The grill was under a covered patio off of the main deck and there was a large outdoor table set up with enough chairs to fit the entire pack plus guests. Outdoor benches lined the patio and led to grass walkways that bled into the forest.

Stiles’ project had been the bonfire. He and Scott used to make little bonfires in the woods all the time, stealing some of his dad’s whiskey and getting smashed while tossing small sticks and dead leaves into the flames. But this bonfire was going to be much more massive. He had it planned out, decided to use only natural materials, and made sure it was perfectly safe.

He didn’t work at all on the grill, patio, or pathways. The bonfire was his baby. After purchasing his own shovel, gloves, and other materials, he spent days out in the forest finding stones that would be perfect to ring the bonfire pit. The only help he accepted in making it was having the wolves carry said stones back to the house, because hell if he was going to cart those in a wheelbarrow when Scott or Isaac could probably drop-kick them all the way back.

In the end, Stiles made sure the fire pit was deep with a trench around it. There was no grass within ten feet of the rocks. There were multiple water hoses hooked up near the grill, something both Peter and Derek insisted on, and one of the hoses was extra-long so it would reach the fire pit.

So with love and care, Stiles created a fire pit that was safe and tonight was the first night the pack would use the back patio, grill, and pit. Tonight wasn’t Stiles’ night to cook Pack dinner, but he had volunteered to switch with Jackson because Jackson’s idea of cooking Pack dinner was to get fancy take-out, put it on plates and nuke it in the microwave until it steamed. This dinner deserved a special touch.

And if Stiles also went to his favorite liquor store two counties over and bought some more alcohol because he needed red wine for a marinade, then that was between him and the little old lady who called him sweetheart when he plopped the glass bottles on the counter before sliding his fake ID over.

The dinner had been wonderful and everyone was ready for dessert, which was supposed to be s’mores. Except he couldn’t get the damn fire to light.

The logs were dry and rotted, so they would light and burn easily. Old newspapers were shoved into the spaces between the logs with dead leaves and kindling placed all over. Stiles had set it all up before even starting dinner, when he could see in the daytime, but right now, Scott was holding his phone over where Stiles’ was hunched over with a lighter so he could see.

“It won’t _light_!” he said loudly.

“It _is_ kind of windy,” Erica said, walking up behind Stiles. “Are you should we should even bother?”

Stiles sighed. “I took out half the logs I put in earlier along with most of the newspapers. I can’t even get this to light, and it’s doused in lighter fluid!” he said, waving around a piece of newspaper. “Look!”

He flicked the lighter on and held the flame up to the newspaper, running it along the edges. The flame flickered along the edge, but the paper didn’t catch. A gust of wind blew and the flame was forced back against Stiles’ thumb. With a hiss, he dropped the lighter and sucked his thumb in to his mouth. “’uckin’ ‘ire’,” he mumbled.

When Scott snickered at him, Stiles kicked out. “You do it, then!”

Both Scott and Erica tried to hold the lighter up to the piece of newspaper, able to hold the lighter up longer since their skin would heal as soon as the flame touched it, but the paper never caught. He tried one more time and again dropped the lighter when the flame burned him. Stiles groaned loudly. “Why won’t you _light_?!”

More steps echoed in the small area, crunching on some dead leaves that blew into the open space. “Maybe you need more lighter fluid,” Derek said lightly before up-ending a large bottle of liquid over the fire. He poured it over the logs and Stiles peered in the darkness because he had already used up all the lighter fluid and that _was not lighter fluid_.

“Dude!” he shouted, rushing over to the other side of the fire pit, arms out-stretched. “What are you doing?!”

Derek glared and stopped Stiles’ forward motion with a hand in the middle of his chest. When Stiles tried to slip away, he grasped Stiles’ t-shirt and held him in place. Stiles whined and made grabby hands at the bottle. “That’s my rum!”

Snickers echoed in the space when Derek didn’t stop glaring at him and kept pouring out the rum. That had been a full bottle and cost him almost twenty bucks. Stiles had even bought his own two liter of Sprite to mix with it.

“Exactly. We agreed that after what happened the last time you had rum—”

“Uh, I never agreed to _anything_ ,” Stiles interrupted.

“—you wouldn’t have any more. No one wants a repeat of that.”

Isaac grinned. “Speak for yourself. That was _hilarious_.”

Derek shook the now-empty bottle and tossed it to Stiles, shoving his hands into his leather jacket pockets and walking back to the house so he could sit on one of the benches on the patio. Stiles pouted and tossed the glass bottle gently on a pile of leaves he had set aside to feed the fire, but since he couldn’t even get the fire to light, he guessed he didn’t need it.

Most of the pack were seated on the stone benches around the fire pit, but since it was getting darker, Stiles couldn’t see who was where. He grabbed his own phone and leaned down, looking over the wood. Even with the extra rum—a full bottle of _his wolfberry rum, damn it, Derek_ —the fire still wouldn’t light.

“Maybe we need more kindling,” Scott said, scratching the back of his head, staring down into the pit, looking just as confused as Stiles did. “I think Allison went to go get some. There’s still a pile of it on the edge of the tree line.”

Stiles looked up at the house, squinting to see who was closest to the door. He had a lighter with a longer neck inside that might work better instead of a smaller cigarette lighter and perhaps that would help. He was about to yell for Lydia or Boyd to go get it when he spotted another person in the faint light coming from the house.

“You know what, Scott? I think we do need more kindling,” he said lightly before turning to the house. “Hey! Peter! We need some kindling. Since I know I can actually set you on fire, mind coming over here and helping out?”

He couldn’t see much due to the setting sun, but bright yellow eyes glowed in the darkness created by the covered patio and a loud growl echoed in the air. Scott choked back his snickers, as did most of the pack, except for Lydia. She threw her head back and cackled loudly.

“Stiles,” Derek said warningly with a growl of his own.

He just grinned and turned his back on them, looking over the fire. “That’s for spiking my drink with an energy drink so my dad thought I was overdosing on Adderall two nights ago.”

Stiles sighed as he looked at the non-burning fire pit. “I can’t get it to light. Do you have WD-40? A little spritz of that over an open flame can surely get this thing lit.”

The loud chorus of _NO_ that was yelled in his general direction made him wince and take a step back. “Jesus, chill out. It’s no big deal! I’ve done it before! Tell ‘em, Scott. That’s how I usually light up all our other bon fires!”

“Don’t bother,” Derek said. “Boyd?”

Stiles yelped when the back of his shirt was bunched up at the neck and he was yanked back from the fire pit. Scott didn’t get the same treatment, but Isaac did pull him back farther than he stepped back.

Just as he was about to ask what the hell was going on, there was a whistle from his left before the bonfire in front of him _exploded_.

Stiles screamed and tried to climb Boyd. Again. Only this time, he was stone-cold sober. “What the _hell was that_?!” he screeched, looking around at the other wolves. None of them seemed as surprised as he did though. In fact, they were watching him with amusement more than the fire.

He turned back to the fire pit, which now held a large fire that was happily burning away, the leaves, kindling, and newspaper burning quickly between the logs. Allison walked up from the left, tucking away her bow into its carry bag. Stiles flailed when he realized what had happened.

“You fired an incendiary round into my fire pit?!” he shouted loudly. “I could have _died_!”

She just gave him a small smile. “I told Derek what I was doing. That’s why Boyd pulled you back.”

And Stiles realized that he was still clenching Boyd’s shirt in his death-grip and promptly let go, trying to smooth out the wrinkles before stepping away and clearing his throat. “Sorry about that.” Boyd just shook his head and walked back over to where Erica was sitting.

Stiles glared at Derek, who was watching the fire warily, but was starting to relax. Peter was tenser, but when he met Stiles’ eyes, he smirked. Stiles rolled his eyes and picked up the lighter he had dropped earlier along with the empty rum bottle. Why was all the rum gone?

He sighed and walked back into the house. “Going to put these up and get a drink that doesn’t involve rum,” he said pointedly to Derek. “Anyone else want anything? I’ll bring out the s’more stuff while I’m at it.”

For once, he was not beckoned to retrieve a plate of extra food or a drink, probably because he was already going to bring the s’mores out. Stiles walked into the house and firmly closed the door, making his way into the kitchen. After sadly placing his empty bottle of rum on the counter, Stiles spun and started toward the living room, where he had dumped his backpack and gym bag when he first arrived. Sure, he hadn’t exactly hid the wolfberry rum that well behind the fruit stand, but that wasn’t his only purchase at the liquor store. He was planning on saving this for a rainy day, but a bottle of cherry vodka would do in a pinch.

Instead of mixing this with Sprite, Stiles pulled out the fresh lemonade from the refrigerator. He mixed up his drink, with more vodka than was probably necessary, but he deserved it, damn it. The vodka cherry lemonade was delicious and Stiles knew he was in trouble when he finished the drink before he even started to pull out the s’mores. He fixed up a tray while he drank his second and made a third in a larger cup with a lid and straw, just in case he managed trip outside.

As he stood up from his seat at the counter, Stiles had to grip the edge of the island. Yes, a lid would be necessary. He gripped the tray tightly and kept a tight hold on his drink as he slowly walked to the porch door. Making out the door was fine since he was on steady ground. Actually managing to walk to the fire pit without falling in would be different, all the while trying to appear sober in a group of werewolves.

Easy.

Stiles snorted to himself as he passed Derek and Peter. He was thankful that for once, Peter didn’t try any childish attempts at tripping him or anything like that, because he would have taken a facer into the grill. And that would have sucked.

He made it to an empty stone bench by the fire pit with no problems and promptly stepped away, cradling his drink, as werewolves descended on the tray. And if he stumbled onto a bench and almost fell off backwards, then he was glad no one noticed, too busy grasping at chocolate and marshmallows.

Isaac was the only one who didn’t immediately dive in. Instead, he walked over and sat by Stiles, who promptly threw his arm over Isaac’s shoulders with a grin. “You’re awesome, you know that? And the curls, they’re awesome, too. I mean, I can’t pull off curly hair. It’s one of the reasons why I buzz it, you know? No maintenance. No frou frou conditioner or shampoo or gel or spray or whatever the fuck douches put in their hair. Not that you’re a douche, because you’re totally not. No, you’re fluffy Isaac and warm Isaac and you’re not allowed to leave this spot or I’ll cry, I swear I will, because I can totally cry on demand thanks to Mrs. Sansone’s drama production in the fourth grade.”

Everyone froze. Stiles blinked when all the pack members stopped in the middle of their actions, including roasting marshmallows, to stare at him. Jackson’s marshmallow caught fire and he didn’t notice as it slid off the metal roasting stick onto the fire blow. Stiles snickered.

Isaac was easily able to pluck his cup out of his hands and out of Stiles’ reach. When he sniffed it, he leaned back with a grimace. “Really, Stiles? Really?”

“It’s lemonade!” he said defensively. “We had some in the fridge, remember? I made it from scratch and no one was grateful.”

Isaac took a sip and nearly choked on it. “You mean it’s vodka spiked with a little lemonade.”

This time, when Stiles reached out for the cup, Isaac didn’t lurch away with it and Stiles was able to snatch it back, pulling it close to his chest with a glare. “Cherry vodka with lemonade? It’s fucking awesome, okay?”

“Oh god, it’s starting,” Jackson muttered before turning back to his marshmallow, only to discover that it was burned away long ago. Stiles snickered again.

Erica nudged Scott. “So we know that he gets mouthy and screeches like a toddler in a fun house when he’s had rum. What happens when he has vodka? Is it the same?”

Scott bit his lip and looked like he was either trying not to laugh or honestly worried. Stiles couldn’t tell but it didn’t matter because his cup was made of win.

“No, it’s not the same. And, uh, as you heard earlier, he talks really, _really_ fast.”

“Are you kidding? It was like someone pushed his fast-forward button,” Lydia scoffed. “He’s not going to be frightened of imaginary were-monsters again, is he?”

Scott chuckled. “No. He gets happy. Still mouthy, only this time, instead of accusing us of biting a chipmunk to lead an army to take over the world or something, he’s more likely to want to hug it out.”

The group looked over at him curiously and yeah, his head was on Isaac’s shoulder, but his shoulders were at perfect snuggle height for Stiles and he was happily drinking from his win cup, or he would if he could get the damn straw to stay still.

“Stop moving, you little fucker,” he said, biting down on the plastic. But then he couldn’t get anything through the straw. When Stiles finally figured out how to keep the straw still _and_ drink, he looked up at the sky. The full moon would be in two days and the sky was clear. To his delight, there was a ring around the moon.

“Oooh, lookit! Look!” he shouted, pointing up.

“Yes, Stiles, it’s call a moon,” Lydia said in a sweet voice. “Now, can you find your nose?”

Stiles glared at her. But only for a few seconds, because it was Lydia and she was made of win, just like his cup. “I know that. I’m _saying_ ,” Stiles paused, trying to gather his thoughts because the fire was warm, as was Isaac at his side, and this whole night was awesome. “I’m _saying_ look at the ring around the moon.”

Almost everyone looked up and he nodded in satisfaction. Derek and Peter weren’t looking up, but they were up by the house and away from the fire so they probably couldn’t see it anyway because of the covered porch. That sucked for them.

“And?” Isaac asked, nudging Stiles.

“It’s totally caused by the refraction of light off the moon in ice crystals in the upper atmosphere. It means bad weather’s coming.”

He was still happily staring up at the sky so he missed all the incredulous looks aimed at him.

“How can you be drunk and smart at the same time?” Erica asked, shaking her head and going back to eating her messy s’more. “It’s not fair.”

Stiles was about to reply that his win cup was made of win and therefore, awesome like him, but Isaac nudged him again. “Does this have anything to do with barometric pressure or other changes in the atmosphere that come with a front moving in?”

He slowly looked at Isaac, not understanding a single word past Barry Manilow or whatever.

“Dude,” he said slowly, “I have had a _lot_ of vodka. Be impressed with the ice crystals shit.”

There was laughter around the group but he settled in next to Isaac, drinking smaller sips and basking in the laughter and conversation around him.

“Hey, Stiles, are there more marshmallows?” Scott asked, and Stiles waved him towards the house.

“You think I’m an idiot who only brings one bag? Dude, come on. It’s me. I’ve got, like, fucking tons of marshmallows inside.”

There was more laughter but Stiles sat up and looked at the now empty tray of s’mores goodies. “Jesus, did you _inhale_ them all?” He snorted at himself. “Inhale? Get it? In Hale? Like…in Hale? God, I’m a genius.”

“You’re something, Stiles,” Allison said with a laugh.

Stiles grinned at her and was about to take another sip when Derek was suddenly in front of him, blocking out the fire. He yelped and fell backwards off the bench, hitting the ground hard but his grip on his cup didn’t waver. In fact, he managed to keep it parallel to the ground.

“Ha! I win, bitches! The cup of win didn’t spill a drop!” he shouted, kicking his legs that were still hooked onto the bench seat. He shouted again when a strong hand gripped the arm not holding his cup and pulled him off the ground. Stiles looked down at the hand and followed it up to an arm and then a shoulder, then finally to a neck and then a face.

Derek was glaring at him, his expression even fiercer. Everyone always joked that Derek only had three facial expressions—pissed off, dealing with Scott, and dealing with Stiles. While those were the top three used, and hey, Stiles hadn’t pissed off Derek in a while, Derek totally didn’t have the poker face he thought he did. Like right now.

He was a combination of frustrated and irritated, but there was also familiar exasperation and humor as well. Stiles chuckled and poked Derek in the cheek his with hand that still held his cup of win. “Sourwolf isn’t so sour, is he?”

Derek sighed and started to drag him forward toward the path—Derek insisted that they at least try to keep the yard nice for the first few weeks—when Stiles started to flail. He almost smacked Derek in the face with his cup, but werewolf instincts kicked in and he now had a grip on Stiles’ arm and hand. “What is _wrong_ with you?” he growled out.

“Dude, you can’t let me near the fire!” Stiles said loudly. “I’m, like, fifty percent alcohol right now! My fumes will catch on fire!”

That garnered the loudest laugh of the night, but Stiles didn’t care, because they were going _towards the fire_. “Derek! _Derek_!” he shouted, trying to dig his heels into the tightly packed dirt.

“Stiles, I’m not going to let you near the fire!” he snapped. “Will you stop wiggling around?!”

True to his word, Derek skirted them around the benches and toward the path that led to the house. “Good, because fire bad, tree pretty.”

No one laughed at his joke and he groaned, going limp and Derek let out a grunt of surprise as he tried to catch him. “Oh, come on, guys! No one got that? Buffy, season three? Graduation? We are marathoning the fuck out of that shit next weekend,” Stiles declared. Derek had an arm wrapped around his waist and was dragging him back.

“Stiles, use your legs!”

He looked down at his feet and pouted. “I can’t. They don’t work anymore.”

Derek huffed and looked at Scott. “I thought you said he only got mouthy and happy?”

Scott shrugged. “This is a new development. I mean, I’m not around every time he has a few drinks. Just, if he gets into his dad’s whiskey, run away. He gets philosophical.”

Derek snorted and pulled Stiles along, who waved to Peter with a grin as they past. When they got into the house, Derek spotted the vodka bottle on the counter and glared at Stiles when he tried to pick it up. When Derek actually took away his cup of win, Stiles was not okay.

“Hey—heyhey _hey_ —that is not cool. I need my win cup.”

“Your what?” Derek asked with his brow furrowed.

“My win cup. It is made of win.” Stiles reached for it but Derek held it out of reach. He even took the lid off and dumped the rest of the contents, not that there was much left, down the sink. “Dude! Why the fuck do you keep dumping my alcohol down the sink and/or fire pit?”

In the middle of his rant, Stiles looked down and realized Derek was no longer gripping his arms. “Oh, hey, look at that. My legs work.”

Derek used this opportunity to grab the rest of the cherry vodka and pour that bottle down the sink.

“ _Derek_ ,” Stiles whined. “Dude, that shit is expensive.”

“Then stop buying it,” he replied as he grabbed a glass from the drying rack by the sink and filled it up with water before handing it to Stiles. “Drink it. All of it.”

With a huff, Stiles started to sip at it as Derek grabbed a plastic cup with a lid like Stiles’ win cup, even though this was not filled with vodka and lemonade like the win cup, but with water. As soon as he finished off the glass of water, Derek shoved the loser cup at him. The moment Stiles took it, Derek spun him around and started to push at his back.

“You’re a fun sucker, you know that? A sun fucker but the other way around,” Stiles said as soon as they stepped outside, stumbling down the path back towards the fire. He sat down next to Isaac with a huff, who simply stared at him with a grin.

The fire wasn’t as strong as it had been when Allison _made it blow up_ , but Stiles still found the sound of the wood crackling soothing. He really did need to give Derek a hug for letting them build a fire pit. Peter was probably more anxious since he hadn’t even stepped foot near it, but screw Peter. Except not really. Because, no.

Stiles stared at the fire and sucked down some more water. It was cool and he missed the burn from the alcohol. Ooh, that reminded him of a YouTube video he saw that used a slow motion camera to film performers who sprayed alcohol from their mouths in a fine mist before lighting the alcohol on fire, essentially giving the illusion that they could breathe fire. They totally needed to watch that later.

He looked between his cup and the fire. “Dude,” he said loudly, “ _fire-breathers_ —”

There were shouts from all over the backyard before Stiles was tackled off the bench from _everywhere_. He groaned when he landed on someone but still got an elbow to the stomach. Someone else wrenched his cup from him.

“No, Stiles! Don’t do it! You’ll burn your face off!” Scott shouted. Ah, so he was the cup stealer. Fine. Scott could have the loser cup.

“Not a pleasant experience, I assure you.”

Stiles groaned and tried to untangle himself, but there were bodies wrapped around him, preventing him from moving. Someone was laughing in the background, but Stiles ignored that.

“Fuck _off_ , Peter, no one asked you!” Stiles shouted to the werewolf, who was still at the patio but could clearly hear everything

“I’m just giving my opinion since I was professional kindling,” he replied sarcastically.

Stiles wanted to make a comment, because that was an opening if he ever saw one, but he couldn’t _breathe_. “Oh my god, everyone just needs to get the _fuck off of me_.”

“No, Stiles!” Scott said firmly, taking off the lid of the cup and dumping the contents out onto the ground. “You are not going to try to become a fire-breather.”

He looked up at Scott incredulously before resuming his struggling. “Scott, you _idiot_ , I didn’t say I was going to try to become a fucking fire-breather. I didn’t even get to finish my sentence!”

“But…” Scott held up the now empty cup. “You…”

“It was _water_ , you dumbass! Derek poured all my vodka down the sink already! After what he did to my rum, did you really think he would take me inside and let me come back out with more vodka?!”

And that’s who was laughing at him, although now the outright laughter was down to chuckles. “Now will all of you _get off me_?”

Surprisingly, Jackson had been the one to tackle him to the left while Isaac had grabbed his back and pulled them back off the bench. Erica and Allison had his front and right. When Stiles looked toward the porch, Boyd was aiming the water hose at him. His jaw dropped in shock before he swung his head toward Scott, who was looking at his empty loser cup like it was a lost puppy.

Slowly, the bodies around him moved away and he sat up. “Jesus Christ, you all are trigger happy. What I was _going to say_ is that there is a video on YouTube where they did a slow motion capture of fire-breathers and that it was awesome and we all needed to watch it when we went back inside.”

He dusted the grass and dirt from his clothes when he stood up. Stiles was still a little unstable, but being dragged inside by the alpha then marched back out to be tackled did wonders to sober up a body. He preferred getting dunked in a pool.

“You’re all assholes,” he said with a grunt, rubbing his hands over the back of his head, feeling for bumps. Isaac had taken most of the hit for him, but it still hadn’t felt pleasant. “First, you couldn’t just smell the difference between the vodka and the water? And second, really? I say the word fire-breather and the appropriate response is to tackle me and try to hose me down?”

“This coming from the guy who burned his forehead on a lava lamp because the colors were pretty and he was too drunk to notice that it was hot,” Isaac said from behind him.

Stiles didn’t answer and when Scott handed him back the loser cup, which was now renamed the cup of suck in his head, he swiped it back with a glare. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to refill my _water_ since some _dickhead_ poured it out!”

As he stomped back to the house, he took one look at Derek, who started snickering again. Yes, it was good to see him laugh, but Stiles was not happy about the circumstances that brought it on. With a growl, he spun on his heels at the door.

“Next pack dinner you’re all getting frozen veggie lasagna!”

Stiles stepped into the kitchen and slammed the door leading outside, effectively cutting off the shouts of horror.

Fuck werewolf rum. Cherry vodka was _Satan._

**Author's Note:**

> Again, events are based on my experiences with my inability to light a fire with a bottle and a half of rum and vodka poured onto dried logs and newspapers. Even as I was shouting at the wood to light, my friend Amber started laughing and asked, "Teen Wolf Fic?". So I grabbed the cherry vodka, lemonade, and got right to it. Blame her.
> 
> More to come!


End file.
